But in vain we shed the tear,
We must still cling to the rear
Of the year that now is near.
Though our eyes begin to blear,
With fogs thick enough to shear,
And we feel inclined to swear,
At the month that comes to smear
All things lovely, all things dear;
We must bear and yet forbear.
But some thoughts our spirits cheer,
Christmas time will soon be here,
Then at thee we'll scoff and jeer,
Smoke our pipes and drink our beer,—
Sit until brave chanticleer
Tells us that the morn is here.
Do thy worst, November drear!
We can stand it, never fear,—
Christmas time will soon be here.
Mary.
My Mary's as sweet as the flowers that grow,
By the side of the brooklet that runs near her cot;
Her brow is as fair as the fresh fallen snow,
And the gleam of her smile can be never forgot.
Her figure is lithe and as graceful I ween
As was Venus when Paris awarded the prize,
She's the wiles of a fairy,—the step of a queen,
And the light of true love's in her bonny brown eyes.
To see was to love her,—to love was to mourn,—
For her heart was as fickle as April days
When you'd given her all and asked some return,
You got but a taste of her false winsome ways.
You never could tell, though you knew her so well,
That her sweet fascinations were nothing but lies,
Like a fool you loved on when of hope there was none
And your heart sought relief in her bonny brown eyes.
Yet 'tis sad to relate, though unhappy my fate,
I would sacrifice all that on earth I hold dear,
If she would but consent to be true, and content,
With the heart that is faithful when distant or near.
Through pleasure and pain we together again,
May never commingle our smiles and our sighs,
But when sleeping or waking, I struggle in vain,
To forget the sweet maid with the bonny brown eyes.
Oh, Mary, my love! with the coo of the dove,
I would woo thee to win thee, and ever to live,
Where thy bright loving face and thy figure of grace,
Could surround me with joys that none other can give.
Oh, say but a word, and I'll fly like a bird,
To the one whom my heart will beat for till it dies,
Bid me come to my home, bid me come, bid me come,
And bask in the light of thy bonny brown eyes.
When Cora Died.